


All Me's, No You

by Eyrdamun



Category: Persona 5
Genre: M/M, This was supposed to be PWP
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-04
Updated: 2018-11-04
Packaged: 2019-08-17 05:05:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,437
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16509881
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Eyrdamun/pseuds/Eyrdamun
Summary: In the dark, the lines between Akechi and his personae blur. Standing on the sea, they - he-  want one thing.





	All Me's, No You

The room between mind and reality, the extension of the Metaverse gifted to him by a higher power that he will usurp,  is pitch black as far as his eyes could see. On the other hand, he can hear waves and feels them lapping at his ankles. The sea of souls is pitch black and cold.

 

When he looks down to his own body, it is as pitch black as his surroundings. Akechi shrugs in the darkness he melts into, his dream is as usual.

 

Robin Hood sighs, Loki hums. Both sounds come from his throat without the facet called Akechi Goro making them.

 

“You know why you’re here.” The murmur is almost drowned by the sea.

 

“You want.” The growl harmonizes with the waves.

 

He knows. He does. They don’t let him deny nor run. His three mouths speak,

Akechi looks down at the waves, at more black, with two pairs of eyes. He feels the faces passing by, limbs and words from others’ hearts filtering against his feet, and stands above it all. Stands tall and proud, stands with a spine crooked and frowns, stands, simply, like a child-

 

There are no lines, not here. Not between him, himself, his selves.

 

He reaches with one arm, long and lanky. It descends like a spider on a web and Akechi knows it’s the limb he shares with Loki. Water ripples as the claws break its surface. Soothingly, the rippling spreads further and further, pushing away all the souls that he doesn’t call upon on as all one of him reaches further into the water. He can’t see it, but he can feel it. Feels just how his fingers graze something.

 

They brush the texture of feathers.

 

He caresses them as he reaches closer and the fabric of a cravat brushes his palm. Like a snake lunging for a bite, his hand clutches the soul by the throat and pulls it up.

 

Red, black and white with a golden accent break the surface of the sea- the only colours that Akechi can see. It’s Arsène, it’s Ren. It’s It’s a million masks under one made of glass.

 

The waves lap at them. They dig at him and kiss Arsène gently, trying to lull him back in, under and away. Away from what he, they, wish. The soul reaches, its red claws exploring darkness to find its hook, to grasp an escape.

 

He can’t see him, but that’s alright. Loki, Akechi, holds him in place.

 

“A dream?” The thief’s voice echoes sultry. The lack of noise, of his friends cheering and screaming like children, highlights the dulcet baritones borne from distortion. Akechi hears it- from under the glass mask, under the pitch black flesh, Ren’s mouth is the one moving.

 

Ren’s mouth, spurred on by the idealized version of himself, by Joker. Between dream,mind, reality, one can always be what they desire.

 

He wants to tear it. He wants to tear everything, rip everything, taste his voice unfiltered on his tongue. He wants to rend until the only thing left is Ren, without any idealization.

 

He wants. Loki wants. Robin Hood wants.

 

They reach out and touch desire. His personae hold him, one more roughly and another tenderly while Akechi’s human hands study Arsene’s torso. It causes it to rumble and his hands stop and splay on his chest. It’s a chuckle and a purr all in one. It’s the same sound Ren makes when Morgana rubs its face against his cheek, the one that he lets out when his friends gift him flowers and rub his hair,the one that escapes him when he finds a particularly useful treasure. If Akechi hadn’t been touching him and feeling the vibrations of the sound, it would have gone buried and unnoticed under the fluttering of his wings.

 

Black feathers are painted in multicoloured streaks when contrasting against the void of Akechi’s dreamscape. They refract Ren’s inner light so ethereally, the material of the feather perfectly sculptured down to the quantum level. He wants to pin the wings under glass, display them in his apartment to be eaten only by his gluttonous eyes.

 

Still, Akechi likes the sounds, he likes the beat, he likes the extravagant costume. But he is greedy and wishes to compose a sound all of his own, to undress and to leave a bare Ren at the mercy of his hungry eyes and hungrier hands. To play him like an instrument and to make him dance to the tune of his heart.

 

“A pleasant one, it seems.”

 

Not as pleasant as the tilt in the other’s voice. No, it can’t be at all. But A **r** s **en** e relaxes nonetheless cradled in between all six of Akechi’s hands, under all two pairs of his eyes and his twitching horns.

 

He brings his metallic lips up to the glass on the persona’s face, sinks his shark mouth on his shoulder and his human lips kiss the obsidian covering Ren’s neck. They all massage out a sigh, and the detective’s largest hands play with ends of the mask.

 

In time, he’ll take it off. In all senses of the word.

 

He’s patient against his face, impatient at his clavicle, somewhere between and back and forth between the two extremes at his neck as a pair of his hands rip off the red jacket while the other tears the black vest. Synchronized, they both push them down as far as they can go. They get tangled in feathers, a pool of fabric at his upper arms and that’s good enough-

 

To reach under all the layers of curse, to devour the core, to hurt, humiliate, rebuild, elate- Ren is all he truly wants.

 

To leave him crumpled and wanting at his feet and hooves- to leave him just how he leaves him with one small shitty smile.

 

In a way, he supposes he wants karma. He hates him, for what he does.

 

Ren groans distorted under layers of glass and metal as Akechi’s sharpest teeth tear the black of his shoulders. For a second too small, porcelain peeks out with a howl and is drowned out by oozing dark.

 

He spits the shadow he teared, groaning one mouth as another one shushes and a third one moans.

 

“What are you?”

 

Three different replies jumble together and interfere each other. It doesn’t matter, in the end, how no answer prevails and how all his hands hold, rip and claw at the obsidian black. What matters is the cacophony of wings fluttering anew and the chaos it echoes under Akechi’s flesh.

 

It tries to escape tenderly through gloved fingers that gently pull at the smooth glass.

 

“I’ve given you no right to such intimacy.” It’s a merciless chuckle that could, would, lure one to a cliff’s edge and over. It’s a lash of a whip called tongue and it stings so sweetly. The most visceral part of the detective can’t resists and roars. Ren tenses, Akechi thinks. Arsene is undeterred. “It’s simply a warning, faceless one, that you would find a seemingly kindred spirit under the mask.”

Three different sounds from three different same vocal chords that strike no chords. There’s no harmony in Akechi, just sounds that grow louder and louder as his hands grow hungrier. Two pairs dig and burrow under black, touch faintly the porcelain hidden under as Ren growls and pulls away without moving. The darkness oozes between Akechi’s hands and Ren’s body with a sound reminiscent of Akechi’s own cries.

 

He angles their bodies so Ren’s wings can be as weighted down by the water as his own braids and cape. So they can become pretty decorations. It’s all they need to be.

He quiets when Ren sighs. It’s so loud. Ren’s flesh is so loud underneath all the layers.

Akechi dreams it to be calling out for him. And this is his dream, in a way. It’s somewhere in between. So he holds him in place with long fingers and his smallest hands as the final pair gently rips off the mask on Ren’s face.

 

The black drips from Ren’s body into the water below them. The droplets like gasoline  bleed into the water and refract light just like Arsene’s feathers. Blurring the line where the wings end and the liquid begins, Arsene, Ren, melds with the sea of soul. The sea waves lap at them with a gently muted intensity. Under the glass, there was just more black and the outline of Ren’s lips under the oil.

 

They open to - to talk, to ask, something, Akechi doesn’t care and covers them with his own made of flesh.

Akechi finds himself whispering. The oil tastes like tainted water and he bites at it with all his teeth. He drinks it like a dehydrated man and is rewarded by glimpses of Ren under the ooze.

 

Akechi’s normal legs are useless as he takes in as much poison as he can, they collapse under weight and he lifts himself up with the other two pairs that remain- lifts the two of them up high. He swallows more poison, mouth working against Ren’s with no concerns for the taste of the liquid.

 

Ren attempts to soar with weighted, dripping wings, but Akechi weights him down with caressing fingers. Because he can’t take flight, he decides to mouth a curse in a voice so sweet against Akechi’s cheek.

 

“I can only be willfully given, never taken.”

 

His lips brush black on his face, it sends a spark down his vertebrae and part of him falls to its knees. Ren’s voice, unfiltered and clear, is a menace that orchestrates Akechi’s body. The words the thief speak against him break when his tongue slithers across his chest and his row of canines caress his pecs.

“I don’t understand what you’re saying,” Ren whispers softly and it feels like a slap- his metal face buries itself in the crook of Ren’s neck and into the soiled and disturbed cravat.

He hisses when the metal touches him.  He hisses again when red fingers dig deep into the obsidian layer on his hips. Half of Akechi wishes the claws kisses peach skin, had of Akechi wishes they didn't reach Ren.

Arsene’s glass mask slips from between his fingers. It floats into the water, is swallowed by it, and the black ooze on Ren’s face magnifies. Akechi stares in confusion, one of his mouth screeches and his white fingers plead. Understanding and misunderstanding dawn on him at once. It's an eclipse in which he can't tell black from white.

 

The fluid on Ren’s face reflects, deflects, to finally solidify into glass. Staring into it, Akechi screams, wails, mourns.

 

The chaos ever present under his skin boils deafening. He feels it flare, hears the sea of soul hissing as it bubbles around them like a threat. He clutches A **r** s **en** e harsher, harder, hungrier. He gasps amidst all his crying hands.

 

“I simply-" Arsene begins to speak above someone’s moan, but Ren continues. Soft and shy, affected and cutting. “I don’t understand.”

 

It’s easy, Akechi thinks. He wants. Loki wants. Robin Hood wants. Each part of him wants--

 

With abandon, he presses their bodies close. Plays with the distance separating them with a mockery of erosion. A **r** s **en** e laughs, a tinge of flushed surprise mingling with playful lust at his reckless neediness. But it works, he thinks. He feels all of his intimacy, intimacies, sink into obsidian and caress porcelain. Ren gasps, Arsene angles them more comfortably.

 

“You’re,” Ren breathes harsh. Akechi can hear his enjoyment at the development, can feel it brushing against his arousal as he thrusts. “You’re much clearer with your actions.”

 

Harsher, tenderly, desperately, all sides of Akechi grind faster. Ren, Arsene, they try to meet him halfway, but Akechi can hear in their gasp how the conflicting momentums leaves him grasping at straws, defenseless, pliant, invulnerable.

 

It’s not too much to ask, is it? And yet, Ren refuses to be at his mercy.

 

With a mouth, Akechi growls, with another he howls and with his third one, he whispers. The three voices growing and lowering their volumes in conflicting directions the closer he is to his peak. And Ren is more quiet, not delicate humming his pleasure into whichever of Akechi’s ears would listen.

 

It’s still so much. The muteness is too much and all three pairs of hands burrow into Arsene’s flesh, all six hands search for Ren.

 

The body in his hand slims the more he claws into it, the more Arsene and Ren cry sweetly in unison. Akechi buckles his hips, his muscular arms hold them gently, his shark teeth sink in deep. A **r** s **en** e has one pair of arms, one pair of legs, one mouth to react with for two. Most of Akechi laughs, moans, at the synchronization of mind. Arsene replies with a sound of his own, but he isn't sure what it was. He couldn't hear above his cacophony, couldn't hear above the howl of the waves.

 

He replies with a howl of his own when Ren and Arsene still restlessly. Akechi feels the orgasm seep from Ren, to Arsene, to him. Like waves crashing into a weakened cliff side, all of Akechi’s strengths leave his legs and he crumbles. The water surrounding them splashes high, and Ren falls boneless in his arms.

 

The sea rises higher- never licking up Akechi's many limbs but surrounding him. The water kisses Ren, Arsene, fondly, separately then both at once. It assumes his shape to then expand like a galaxy emerging from Ren. The surface breaks, the glass mask Akechi dropped resurfaces and multiplies. It breaks and reforges until only Ren is there, until all of Ren is there.

 

Until Ren isn’t there in the faces anymore.

 

Until Ren had never been there at all.

 

Until Ren-

 

“Ah,” Akechi says, alone.

 

Robin Hood doesn't reach. Loki lashes out.

 

“I wouldn't recognize you at all.”

 

The not-Rens laugh. Maybe Ren does too, buried somewhere far. Somewhere where none of Akechi can immerse himself in.

 

The water calms down. It falls at his feet once more, dragging Ren, Not Ren, Arsene with it and down deeper and deeper and deeper and.

 

Everything is black.

 

The room between mind and reality, the extension of the Metaverse gifted to him by a higher power that he will usurp,  is pitch black as far as his eyes could see. He can hear waves and feels them lapping at his ankles. The sea of souls is pitch black and cold.

 

But so is Akechi.

 

**Author's Note:**

> I had no idea what to do as a summary.  
> These was supposed to be just porny but. Oh well, here we are. It's not even that explicit but better safe than sorry i suppose.


End file.
